Poems from the Divan of Hafiz, by Getrude Lowthian Bell, [1897], at sacred-texts.com

XIX

WHAT drunkenness is this that brings me hope Who was the Cup-bearer, and whence the wine? That minstrel singing with full voice divine, What lay was his? for 'mid the woven rope Of song, he brought word from my Friend to me Set to his melody.

The wind itself bore joy to Solomon; The Lapwing flew from Sheba's garden close, Bringing good tidings of its queen and rose. Take thou the cup and go where meadows span The plain, whither the bird with tuneful throat Has brought Spring's sweeter note.

The greedy glances of a Tartar horde To me seemed kindmy foeman spared me not Though one poor robe was all that I had got. But Heaven served Hafiz, as a slave his lord, And when he fled through regions desolate, Heaven brought him to thy gate.